This is not your place to give up
by Yuki Suou
Summary: What if Lady Galadriel wasn't the one to help Frodo when he was trapped in Shelob's lair?


This is not your place to give up

Thud.

Someone has fallen down, Frodo dimly thought. Ah well, it was he himself. Who else would be in this accursed place anyway? The darkness… the darkness was overwhelming. The gloom of the place was eating away his soul, bit by bit. "The atmosphere is so oppressive," thought Frodo, "or is it merely a figment of my imagination?" No longer could he separate his own fears, his own misgivings, his own worries, from the shadow of evil that seemed to overlap him for an eternity. Even the natural healer, sleep, was eluding him. Such feelings! Was he dying? Slowly, slowly, he succumbed to his exhaustion.

Subconsciously, he felt a change in the atmosphere. "Light," he thought, "Warmth." The smell of sunshine. The feel of soft grass against his tired body. He once again reveled in the fresh air, taking in the sweet scent of ripening wheat. He heard once again the quiet buzz of everyday life. The sweet flavour of the famous apple-pies of Camellia Bolger tickled his nose. Ah, there the bark of Farmer Maggot's hounds, and there that familiar thwack-thwack of Lotho Whitfoot's wood-work. A smile crept upon his face.

He was back in The Shire again.

But, it was impossible! He could not possibly be in The Shire! He had left The Shire Eru knows how long ago. He is journeying to Mordor, for goodness' sake! Reality came crashing down upon him, and he started to lose hope once more.

It was then that he heard the voice. Menacing, yet comforting. Soft, yet having a steely ring to it. It was a voice that could be threatening and protective at the same time.

"Child, this is not your place to give up."

"But I cannot go on. I do not have in me what it takes to complete this quest." His voice sounded so weary, so hopeless, that he himself was appalled. But was it too much to wish to be back in his own hobbit-hole, smoking a pipe and reading a book?

"If the task was not really cut out for you, then you would not have been appointed with it. Nothing in this Universe happens without a reason. Would you fail your friends by using that foolish excuse? Would you like your homeland to fall into ruins?"

Without warning, his vision of the peaceful Shire changed (for a vision it was, he had never opened his eyes). From merriment and laughter, the voices changed to shrieks and screams. Fields were burned, houses were destroyed, trees were hacked and cattle were slaughtered. People were tortured to death and the cruel laughter of the orcs and uruk-hai rang in his ears.

"Stop." He whispered. "Stop."

But it didn't. He saw old Proudfoot's head being severed off. He saw a scimitar being driven into Rosie Cotton's chest. Then he found himself staring at the lifeless eyes of the youngest Boffin. He remembered giving that lad a wooden toy horse on Bilbo's birthday.

"No!" he yelled. "Please stop it! This is too much!"

Still, the scenes didn't stop. Next, he saw Gandalf falling to his death. He also saw Boromir taking three arrows in his chest. He also caught a glimpse of Pippin and Merry being taken to a tall black tower and tortured there. One by one, he witnessed the death of each member of the Fellowship.

"Nooooooo! I beg you, stop it at once! I don't want to see this. It is not truly happening," wept Frodo. "Please." His voice cracked.

This time, the images were removed instantly. He could again feel a cool breeze on his brows.

"Nay, child, 'tis not truly happening. But that is what will surely happen if you were to fail." The voice seemed sad. "Now, open your eyes. It will not do anyone any good if you willingly call upon Death."

"But…."

"Open your eyes, Frodo Baggins!" the voice growled.

Frodo cracked open his eyes and almost screamed. For Frodo had never anticipated seeing what he was now witnessing. He was sure that once he opened his eyes, he would be in the miserable lair of a dangerous, man-eating spider. He was there alright, but also, standing there in that very place, was the most awe-inspiring creature (if it could be called a creature, that is) he had ever seen.

His politeness prevented him from asking "What are you?"; rather he settled for,

"Who are you?"

Frodo squeaked when he saw it coming forwards. He had no idea what the huge thing would do to him. But even though it got nearer, Frodo did not make any attempt to get up and flee. For though terrifying it might seem, the hobbit was sure he was safe with it.

The creature (once again, Frodo felt awful for thinking of it in that manner, but he neither knew it's name nor had the slightest bit of an idea about what it was) paused near his head and breathed on him.

Frodo's head swam. He felt as if he was drowning in a whirlwind of emotions. His mistrust of Sam, his giving up on his quest, his hopelessness, everything that was tightening like a noose on his neck was shred to pieces. He felt his spirits soar once more, strength coming back to his limbs and he almost felt whole again.

"I am known by many names, but you can call me Aslan. And I will always be there to help you, my child."

He glanced up to see Aslan's kindly and lordly face and saw him start to disappear. But he left one last piece of advice for him.

"Do use her gifts wisely. And never for once forget what she said, 'Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.' ".

The light dimmed. But Frodo had found his strength once again. Yes, he could do it. At the very least, it was well worth the effort. But before that, he must apologize to Sam.

Frodo got up and grabbed the vial of the Light of Eärendil tightly.

He can do this. He has to do this.

**Author's note: well, I assumed there are no lions in Middle-Earth. Are there any? I am not sure.**

**So how is it? Good, bad or worse? Please be kind enough to share your opinion. Thank you for reading.**

**A/N 2: This is the edited form of the story and I owe my thanks to DJA66 for removing all the mistakes I made previously. Thanks a lot!**


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